


fall down to heaven

by sowerberry_25 (emilily_25)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Alpha Peggy Carter, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Bucky Barnes, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, World War II, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22997674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilily_25/pseuds/sowerberry_25
Summary: Bucky never sleeps in the middle.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 29
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

Bucky never sleeps in the middle.

It’s not for lack of offering on Steve and Peggy’s part, they know. They’re doting lovers, there’s no doubt about that. Neither of them will go without making sure all of them are being pleasured, being sated. ‘Course, Peggy’s meaner about it than Steve. Steve’s all sweet-nothing and gentle touches, while Peggy’s a spitfire, ready to drag you in and make sure you’re feeling good, whether you ask for it or not.

Bucky loves them for it, but he still stays away from the middle.

Thousands of lies linger on the tip of his tongue each time. He just wants to take care of them. He’s doing good right here. He prefers watching them. All sorts of fibs he spews out just to get them to stop staring at him with those piercing eyes of theirs.

Sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all, when they’re in the heat of the moment. He just slides around, shifts so that the focus isn’t ever really on him, but it’s always on Steve or Peggy. It’s his favorite system, mainly because they rarely notice. It’s more obvious if Bucky outright refuses to get spitroasted, but if he just sneakily shifts away so he’s groping up Peggy while she’s got Steve in him—well, neither of them will complain.

There’s no explanation he has for it, not really. Maybe it’s the attention he doesn’t like, or the vulnerability, or both. Sleeping in the middle means those two have worn him out enough for his legs to be jelly, his head to be mush, and his emotions to be bared. That’s how it always goes, how it always will go, and it makes Bucky’s insides squirm.

He knows he’d enjoy it, in the moment. Why wouldn’t he? Getting doted on, pleasured ‘til his body’s fuzzy and his brain’s nothing but soup, and topping it all off snuggled between two warm bodies.

But the idea of both of them getting on him like that, so intent and enraptured by nothing but _him_ , has him tensing up. He doesn’t want to think about them watching him so closely and for so long, until they can pull apart all the little details of his very existence—and, more importantly, all his flaws. He doesn’t want to pop the beautiful little bubble he’s found for himself, doesn’t want Steve and Peggy come to their senses and realize they have no real need for him.

A war-haunted Omega queer with sallow skin and only half his sanity: he’s nothing but a joke, compared to them.

They’re picturesque together, really. Both Alphas, sure, but a man and a woman, both strong and beautiful and clever and everything Bucky isn’t. They’d live a happy life, with a beautiful house and lots of happy kids and a _future_. Bucky can’t give them that.

Bucky can’t give them shit.

So, he stays out of the middle.

It gets hard, though, when his heats rear their brutal head. The suppressants and scent blockers he’s been on since childhood lessen their intensity plenty, sure, but they’re never completely gone. The meds only work enough to keep others from noticing his designation, enough to make them assume he’s a Beta, and enough to minimize his symptoms enough so that he can go about his usual life. His heat, every three months when it comes, breaks more like a fever than anything else, and he can usually get by with a day’s bedrest before he’s back up and at ‘em again.

Steve’s never quite liked that, and Peggy quickly comes not to too.

“You don’t have to suffer your heat alone, Buck,” Steve says, almost pleadingly one night.

They’re in Peggy’s quarters, since she’s the only one in this whole base camp with a private room to herself. It’s not nearly as hard as it should be to sneak in there, and that very thought has Bucky stifling a growl before he can help it. No, Peggy’s more than able to keep off any unwarranted advances if they did come, even if it was to her isolated room in the middle of the night.

Doesn’t mean Bucky has to like it, though.

“Indeed, that’s what we’re here for,” Peggy adds, forcing Bucky to return his attention to the conversation.

He knows why they’re pressing like this now.

They’re both detail-oriented to a fault, and Bucky knows they know his biological clock better than he probably knows it himself. They’ve probably been keeping track of the weeks passing, of his changes in behavior, of his growing scent that’s gotten harder and harder to mask.

It didn’t take long for them or for him to put the pieces together: his heat’s coming up.

He probably has a couple days at best, by Bucky’s best approximation. They very thought of it has his anxiety spiking before he can help it. After all, it’ll be only his second heat since Steve had broken him out of that prison in Azzano, since damn HYDRA had taken him and…

“Bucky?”

Bucky startles to the present at Steve’s soft, worried voice. He looks up to see concern lacing those baby blues, and he wills himself to look collected and relaxed.

“It’s fine, Stevie,” he waves him off weakly, but he can hear the lack of conviction in his own voice.

It’s been a long day, and he’s exhausted. They’ve only just gotten back from a mission on the French front, brutal in every sense of the word. They made it out alright, sure, but it was a grueling week out along the border of Alsace-Lorraine, one with little sleep and barely enough food and so many damn explosions Bucky swears his ears are gonna ring for the next decade.

And more importantly, it’s been a spell since they’ve been together, all three of them like this. Peggy’s stayed at all their bases across the continent for tactical support, but she’s not a front line soldier. Steve’s with him, sure, but he’s all ‘Captain America’ out there, with all his rules and righteousness that has Bucky’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. He’s not Steve, good ol’ Stevie, until they’re behind closed doors like this, and he _misses_ it.

So it’d be really nice if they didn’t spoil the mood so goddamn much with their prying.

“Really, though—where’s the bloody loo, Carter?” Bucky quips, doing his absolute worst British accent he can muster.

His stomach flips, though when Peggy doesn’t so much as chuckle. He tries to hide the frown from his face, but he knows he’s failing pretty spectacularly. She always laughs at his awful accent. She must be extra serious today.

“C’mon,” he tries again, the amusement in his tone more strained than anything. “What’s a man gotta do to take a shower around here? I’m gross.”

“You already showered, back at the barracks,” Steve interrupts, more heated than he should be.

Bucky’s eyes wide at the sudden interjection, and at least Steve has the decency to look embarrassed by his outburst. It’s true—Bucky had showered almost immediately after they’d gotten back to base, rushing off while Steve and Peggy went in for a debriefing meeting.

But how the _hell_ does Steve know that?

“I went and looked for you, before the meeting,” Steve explains, abashed under Bucky’s silently questioning gaze. “Wanted to see if you wanted to join, but I, uh, saw you in the showers and decided to leave you alone.”

Bucky gapes for a moment before his lips upturn, and the grin on his face isn’t faked this time.

“What, just came in and watched without a word? What a pervert, Rogers,” he sneers, enjoying the flush of pink that blooms on Steve’s face in result.

The serum’s changed plenty, but one thing’s for sure—Steve still blushes like a peach.

“Stay focused,” Peggy snaps, and oh boy, she’s definitely not in the best mood today.

“C’mon doll,” Bucky tries, keeping his voice soft and smooth to try and calm her nerves. It only helps a little. “What’s got you all riled up, hm?”

He rests a hand on her thigh, fingers dancing over the silk of her dressing robe. It’s not an innately sexual touch, not yet, but it’s still a promise for something more, if that’s what Peggy wants.

She doesn’t remove his hand, but she also doesn’t react to it. That doesn’t settle well in Bucky’s stomach.

“Let me take care of ya,” he offers, rubbing a thumb in circles, stretching bits of the soft stockings she’s wearing. “You’re stressed now, love. Let me help.”

Peggy looks tempted by the prospect, her fingers twitching, but she stays steadfast.

“Why should I, when you won’t let us take care of you?” she challenges.

Bucky groans, loud and long, and pulls his hand away to collapse back into his chair.

“Impossible, you’re both damn impossible.”

“Buck—”

“It’d be quite easy, James, if you just listened to us,” Peggy cuts in sharply. She sounds like she’s all business and strictness, but Bucky can hear the lingering concern in her tone. “I really don’t see what you have to lose in all of this.”

“There’s nothing to _lose_ , babydoll,” Bucky lies through his teeth. There’s plenty to lose, really, Steve and Peggy’s respect for him being the top thing. “I just don’t see how this is a big deal. Heats really aren’t a big deal—I can get by plenty fine on my own.”

“Steve’s spent heats with you, and you didn't have a problem with it then.”

“Oh, is _that_ what this is about? You jealous, love?”

Peggy startles back like she’s been physically hit by Bucky’s words, and the guilt immediately wells up in his chest. He opens his mouth to take his gripe back, to apologize, to do _something_ , but she’s recovering before he can even try. Regaining her composure in a fraction of a second like the spy she is, Peggy narrows her eyes and speaks up again.

“I just mean,” she starts, her voice not so much icy as much as it is sharp, leaving no room for backtalk, “that I don't see what the issue is now, since you let Steve help you before.”

Bucky can’t help the snort that escapes him.

“Yeah, more like Steve barreled his way to my place and pounded on the door ‘til I let him in.”

It has him reminiscing fondly of that skinny little punk, his pheromones abound as he threatens to slam the door down with his not-even-ninety-pound body. He’d been such an annoying kid even back then, but Bucky wouldn’t trade him in for the world.

Bucky’s so lost in his fond remembrance that he almost misses the shock flickering over Peggy’s eyes.

Almost.

“Steven,” she starts, and Bucky startles from the coldness in her voice. “Did you try to _coerce_ James during his heats into—”

“Woah, woah, woah! No!” Bucky jumps in, aghast. “Pegs, no. Just, no.”

Steve looks stricken, almost guilty, which makes no goddamn sense because he didn’t do anything wrong, for fuck’s sake.

“Then what did you mean—”

“He just, he made sure I was okay and all that. Jesus, Peggy!”

“Well, excuse me for being worried—”

“I’d never…” Steve starts but he quickly trails off, his face scrunching together in thought.

Bucky knows that expression on his face well enough to know that he’s probably cataloguing every heat he’s ever had with Bucky. Fuck, he’s probably taking note of anything and everything he’d done that could’ve even _slightly_ be read as forced, because the dumbass seems to think he’s always in the wrong about something.

“Stop that,” Bucky snaps, giving a light, backhanded hit to Steve’s chest. He refuses to admit that it probably hurt his hand more than it hurt Steve. “You never did anything bad, I swear it.”

“But, I mean, with the hormones, you might have—”

“I get horny, not feral,” Bucky deadpans, rolling his eyes when that sorry expression doesn’t lift from Steve’s face. “Oh, get off it, Rogers. I’m a grown ass man, I can make my own decisions during my heats.”

Steve still doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he’s at least a little less apologetic now, so Bucky turns to Peggy.

“He could have still forced you,” she points out, and Bucky scoffs.

“With that scrawny body? No way in hell. No offense, Stevie.”

“None taken,” Steve echoes, though he still looks grossly guilty. _Ugh._

“He could have scented you—”

“Ya sure seem hell bent on prosecuting Stevie, love,” Bucky cuts Peggy off pointedly, almost proud when he manages to make her jaw snap shut. “Coulda done this, coulda done that, but he _didn’t_. Stop it with all that, will you?”

Peggy has the graces and respect to look a bit embarrassed, and Bucky relaxes as he continues. 

“’Sides, half the time, we didn’t even fuck.”

He winces internally at the crass language—his momma certainly didn’t raise him to swear in front of a lady, but Peggy has no qualms about it. She embraces it even, and in the privacy of her quarters she swears like a sailor.

Damn Brits.

“Stevie didn’t always have the strength for that,” he continues, relieved as Peggy’s guilt morphs into curiosity. “He coulda come down with something that week, or was only just recovering from something else from the week prior. He couldn’t always do much, but he’d always try to be there, whether it was to help me get off or even just to make sure I was eating and drinking properly.”

Peggy’s eyes soften in understanding, and she strokes a hand across Steve’s bicep in apology. Steve grabs her hand and kisses it gently in acceptance, before they both turn back to Bucky. 

“We can do that now,” she says softly, reaching out to hold his hand as well. Bucky allows it, and lets her thumb over the back of his knuckles comfortingly. It only helps a little, but he appreciates the sentiment. “ _I_ can do that. It doesn’t have to be sex, love. Whatever you need, I can be there.”

She pauses, one of those deep, pensive pauses that means she’s thinking far too much about something far too simple. Bucky resists the urge to kiss the expression off her face.

“Is this… is there something wrong about me?”

“Wha—Peg, no.” Bucky shuts the thought down immediately and shifts to hold her hand properly, squeezing in what he hopes is reassurance. “There’s nothing, not a single damn thing wrong with you, love, with either of you.”

“You’re perfect,” Steve voices, and Bucky nods eagerly. But then Steve’s stops, expression morphing into something that has Bucky wanting to squirm. “Y’know, he didn’t even tell _me_ , last heat. Didn’t have a single clue, not ‘til I found out myself.”

Bucky visibly tenses at that.

“Steve…” he starts, warning, but Steve just stares back at him intently, challenge in his eyes.

“I remember,” Peggy murmurs, and Bucky swallows heavily.

-

It had been a few months ago, routine like clockwork, when his last heat had arrived. Really, Bucky’s biology was annoyingly regular, so it shouldn’t have caught him off guard nearly as much as it did, but in his defense, it had also only been a couple of weeks after Azzano.

Things were still hectic everywhere they looked. The army, the Allies, the _world_ had to get used to looking at Captain America as a Commanding Officer, not as a dancing monkey. They had leads, real leads, on how to wipe HYDRA off the map for good. War tensions were skyrocketing across the globe.

It was a crazy time for everyone involved, and Bucky was no exception.

He hadn’t noticed it at first. Usually, he was a master at keeping track of his symptoms. He watched for his heat like a hawk, keen as it crept up closer and closer, ever threatening to descend upon him and plunge his life (or, well, a day or two of it) into chaos.

He couldn’t really blame himself, though. Not at first. After all, with the insanity surrounding him, it was hardly much of a surprise that he lost track of the dates. The cold sweats, the antsy mood, the extra energy—that could all be associated with the rush of war, not his preheat.

Everything came crashing down the morning of, though, when he awoke with a near-painful fever and enough anxiety to kill a man.

Blessedly, his heat had just happened hit when they were stationed in a proper Bristol base. They rarely, if ever, crossed the channel for anything, but it’d been deemed necessary days before. As German forces pushed further and further across continental Europe, the Allies’ safe bases grew fewer and fewer. Their resources were dwindling, and if they were about to wipe out every HYDRA base they could find on God’s green Earth, they were gonna need time to regroup and rearm.

Not that any of that mattered when Bucky’s insides were on _fire._

He hadn’t been sure whether to feel miffed or relieved when he realized Steve wasn’t there with him. Even as Sergeant, Bucky was supposed to sharing bunks with the other Commandos, but Steve had stepped in quickly when they started drawing slots. He immediately offered Bucky his room, citing that space was tight and he wanted everyone to be as comfortable as possible.

At the time, everyone had praised the good Captain, calling him such a champ for sharing his space with his right-hand man. It had even taken Bucky aback a bit, but then night had fallen, Peggy had wondered into their room and, well, the rest was history.

But then that morning arose, and Steve was gone, out and about. If Bucky had to guess, he’d’ve assumed that Steve was busy with some important tactical meetings, ones that he probably expected Bucky to show up to eventually.

_Yeah, not happening._

Bucky didn’t linger on it too long, though. Steve would be back eventually, and he could pester him then. He didn’t have much time before his heat fully set in, and he couldn’t spend those precious minutes dawdling around looking for Steve and convincing to take the day off. Ignoring the fact that they probably _couldn’t_ get away with that without revealing Bucky’s designation, it’d just take too much time and effort that Bucky just didn’t have at his disposal.

And if he was still a bit wary about spending his heats with this new and improved, serumed-up Steve, then, well, that was for him to know and no one to find out.

Once he realized what was happening, Bucky had immediately tripped his way over to the closest room, which just so happened to be Falsworth’s. As a Lieutenant and the next highest in command after Steve, he’d gotten the second biggest room in the whole building too. He was bunking with Morita, though, who answered the door when Bucky had knocked.

 _“Morning,”_ Bucky had greeted with as little strength he could muster. He had a role to play, after all. 

_“You look like a dying frog, Barnes,”_ Morita greeted back, never one to cut words. Bucky forced a grimace.

 _“Gee, thanks,”_ he snarked, then scrunched his nose in a show of disgust. _“Feelin’ the same, too. Musta been something in last night’s dinner. Maybe those goddamn mussels—remind me never to trust Frenchie again.”_

When in doubt, blame the French.

Bucky internally apologized to Derniere while Morita, expectedly, had laughed and clapped his shoulders.

_“Them’s words to live by, Sarge.”_

_“Hear, hear.”_ Bucky curled his lips into a frown, hoping to god the flush and lightheadedness from his heat was enough to pass off as illness. _“Tell Steve I won’t be out today? God knows I don’t wanna be puking over strategy maps.”_

His acting must have worked, because Morita had just shook his head in exasperation.

_“I gotcha, don’t worry. Take it easy. God knows we aren’t gonna get a day to ourselves like this for the next while.”_

True to his word, Morita must have told everyone that he was puking buckets, because not a single person came to bother Bucky the rest of that morning. Steve didn’t even try to check in to make sure he was eating, though he must have been too busy to break away for even a second.

Bucky had felt bad—of course he had. He was supposed to be up there, helping Steve and being his back-up, but he was sat in his room lazing around and dealing with the growing warmth in his gut.

Warmth, not heat.

A few hours passed, though, and Bucky started to worry. Had he accidentally mistaken his symptoms for something else? Sure, it all seemed normal. That pooling fire in his abdomen, the thrumming under his skin, the utter filth spewing forth in his mind. All normal symptoms of heat, no doubt.

But for all of the depraved fantasies drumming around in his head and all the warmth blanketing his body, Bucky’s heat didn’t hit. He couldn’t for the love of God figure out why, but everything just seemed so… dry.

_Wait—_

-

“I had no damn clue.”

Back in real time, Bucky startles as Steve’s voice drags him out of his thoughts.

“I, I didn’t even think about it,” Steve continues, heated.

Anger rumbles through his voice in a dangerous play as his fists clench and jaw tightens. It’s all too familiar sight, seeing his expression twist into fury, into indignation, into _regret_ , all at the same time. Bucky instinctively twitches to reach out to him, to comfort him, but he’s pinned in place by Steve’s words.

“They’d said he was sick and I just took it in stride, didn’t question it at all,” he continues.

Peggy’s grasp tightens on both of their hands, but Steve’s not paying attention. To be fair, Bucky barely is either, entirely enraptured and horrified by what Steve’s saying.

“God, I shoulda known, I’ve _always_ known—”

Bucky opens his mouth, ready to talk Steve’s ear about how stupid he’s being.

“— but I made you deal with it all by yourself—”

It’s a _heat_ , Bucky wants to say, not a goddamn disease. It doesn’t make him an invalid, and he sure can get through it fine on his own. 

“—all because I forgot. Fucking forgot, and then—”

The words are all there, on the tip of his tongue, but the look on Steve’s face buries them in Bucky’s throat before he can think.

God, he just looks so damn _wounded_.

“—you didn’t even _tell_ me.”

‘Cos that’s what it always came down to, isn’t it? It never mattered whether Bucky asked for him, whether he was needed, whether he used to keel over popping a knot because of his weak constitution. Steve didn’t care about any of that.

All he wanted, all he ever wants, is to know, to be there, to help.

God, he always wants to help. Always has, and always will ‘til the day it kills him. And now there’s another one of him, a dame who’s just as stunning and stellar and _stubborn_. They’re a tidal wave together, Peggy and Steve are, staring at Bucky like he’s the end of their world in only the best ways imaginable.

They’re so earnest and true and good, and dear Lord Almighty, if they don’t stop staring at him like that his barely-existent resolve is going to crumble painfully fast.

“It’s just a heat,” Bucky rasps out, and the excuse sounds pathetic to even his ears. Steve and Peggy entertain him, though, their expressions softening and their hold gentling.

Peggy pulls Bucky’s hand up to her mouth to kiss it, all eager and coaxing, like she could solve the world’s problems with those cherry red lips of hers. Probably could, really. He’s no doubt that that pretty mouth’s one of the secret wonders of the world, irresistible to anyone who looks when it’s not all hardened in tension and anger like it usually is. 

But there’s a small, wired part of Bucky that wants to keep the sweetness of those puckers a secret to the universe. It’s a twisted, possessive thing, just like the way he wants to keep Steve’s Brooklyn drawl a secret from the Captain-America-loving world.

They’re lovely and gentle and _real_ in a way others just can’t understand, and Bucky selfishly wants to keep that to himself. The world sees Captain America and thinks of the straight-laced leader who’s patriotic to a fault. The world sees Agent Carter and thinks of stony, indifferent Brit who couldn’t care less about anything besides the war.

But no one really sees them as what they are—just Steve and Peggy, two stubborn assholes against the world, with Bucky to watch their backs. Sweet, stubborn spitfires that he’d follow to the grave, if the Lord would allow it. They shine brighter than any diamond De Beers could sell, and even basking in their shadows feels like a blessing.

Bucky can only wonder how long they’ll allow him to selfishly linger behind them, before they realize just how undeserving he really is.

“Perhaps,” Peggy says easily, agreeably, “but to us, it’s important nonetheless.”

“Damn right,” Steve says.

He sounds fierce and full in a way that has Bucky melting inside. It’s times like these when that firey little kid from Brooklyn comes out again, reminds him of the man Bucky fell in love with, insists that he never left, and promises he’s not going away anytime soon.

And now, now he’s got backup, and fuck if Bucky’s able to say no to both of them.

“Fine.”

His voice is quiet even to himself, but Steve and Peggy seem to hear him just fine, judging by the way they instantly perk up. The sight’s almost enough to make Bucky backtrack, but he soldiers on, forcing himself to continue before he can make himself stop.

“Y-you, you guys can, uh, spend my heat with me. Or whatever.”

He looks away then, unable to bear seeing the pure earnestness in their eyes, but he doesn’t resist when Peggy kisses his hand again.

“Thank you,” she says softly, so tenderly like Bucky’s done anything to deserve it.

He doesn’t have to look to know that Steve probably looks as soft and sweet as she sounds. It feels unreal, for someone like Bucky to have either of them in his life, let alone both of them, but he tries not to think of that when he feels Steve’s hands draw him closer. They’re wide and strong like the rest of him, so much bigger and less familiar than what Bucky’s used to, but still so quintessentially Steve.

That night, as they fall into their heated embraces, Bucky still doesn’t sleep in the middle. He doesn’t sleep at all, really, too busy watching the gentle rise and fall of Steve and Peggy’s chests in unconsciousness. Even out like lights, he treasures their presences, and watching them through the night is almost enough to calm his rising nerves.

Almost.

The calm that falls over him is a façade not meant to last, but he’ll cherish it ‘til his last living days, that’s for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont ask me where this came from idek if the steve/peggy/bucky ship (steggybuck? stuckeggy?? what is this ship called) is still alive anymore lmao


	2. Chapter 2

When his heat finally does hit, he’s grossly, inexplicably unprepared. 

It’s not his fault, he reasons.

He’s ready in all other regards. He’s made it clear to the other men that he’ll be down for the count for he next day or two. Faking illness’s not too hard around here, where they’re never too sure if their food and drink’s clean. He’s taken an extra suppressant to keep the edge off and hold himself in check during the daytime ‘til he peaked. He’s accrued particular, ahem, _supplies_ that’ll make everything a whole lot easier.

In every sense of the word, he’s prepared for his heat, but there’s a wrench in his planning, a wild card he has no idea how to ready himself for.

Or, well, _two_ wild cards.

Steve picks up on it first—whether it’s because his serum-enhanced senses or just his overt familiarity with everything to do with Bucky, no one’s quite sure. Though, to be fair, he’s also been painfully aware of Bucky over the past couple days. He’s been actively keeping an eye out for anything or everything that could be a sign, so it’s not all too surprising when he figures it out before even Bucky does.

It’s nighttime when he peaks, thank the Lord, so it’s all too easy for Steve to usher him into their room. Or, well, Peggy’s room, that they’ve all but taken over since setting up camp here. They could, theoretically, do this in Steve and Bucky’s room, but it’d be harder to sneak Peggy in without the other guys noticing.

Besides, all the way out here, with no other people nearby, they don’t have to worry about being quiet.

Peggy lets them in without a word, shutting and locking the door immediately. The windows are kept shut and the curtains are drawn—a necessary precaution for what they’re about to do. It’s routine, of course, to make sure they’re hidden and unseen when Steve and Bucky come in here, but it’s all the more imperative to be cautious now, as Bucky’s scent grows stronger and their inhibition dwindles.

“Water,” Bucky rasps, toppling onto the bed with all the grace of a baby bird. A cup materializes beside him instantly, and he grabs it gratefully and chugs the whole thing.

“Does it usually start like this?” Peggy asks, taking the glass from him and delicately placing it on the end table. Despite the warmth tingling under his skin, Bucky snorts.

“You’re not very familiar with this, huh?”

In her defense, Peggy doesn’t look offended. She just shrugs a little bit and settles down next to him on the bed. She doesn’t even flinch when he throws himself back to lie down on the creaky mattress, flopping down gracelessly and squirming as his clothes grew too tight, too _warm_.

“Most of the women I know don’t take suppressants at all,” she explains lightly. She reaches up to comb her fingers through her hair, and Bucky almost moans at how nice it feels. “And, well, there aren’t many of your type around love.”

_Your type._

Bucky knows she doesn’t mean anything bad by the words, but that doesn’t stop him from tensing a bit anyway. He’s all too familiar with that kinda language, albeit with a far different tone.

 _People just don’t understand your type, sweetie_ , his Ma would say.

 _The medications aren’t meant for your type, so they’ll feel a bit strange_ , his Pa would warn.

 _Your type shouldn’t be around! God’s mistakes, the lot of you,_ his estranged uncle would shout.

Female Omegas were plentiful, but males were far and few between. That’s how it’s supposed to be, they’d say. Women had the biology, had the minds and bodies and spirits for it. They didn’t need suppressants because their heats were more controllable, more regular. If they did take them, say to try to work in the factories, they had safer, cheaper pills that didn’t mess with their heads and bodies nearly as much.

Meanwhile, a male with an Omega designation was as useless and hopeless as a pope’s dick.

Still, things’ve been getting better. More and more people like him were speaking up, making a stance. Female Alphas like Peggy made their strengths known, and that inspired other deviants. Suppressant markets start experiments with different combinations, ones meant to work better with abnormals like them, and more employers turned a blind eye to designation so long as you could work the jobs left empty by the war effort.

It certainly wasn’t the 1850s anymore.

The suffragettes had helped with the progress, that’s for sure. Fought for deviants’ rights like they did ladies’ rights, or colored folks’ rights, or anyone in between. Sure, not all of them were so open-minded, but plenty were. Bucky had even met a few before, back when he and Steve went to fairy bars on special occasions. They never asked his designation, and he never told them, but they were a lovely bunch nonetheless.

“Sweetheart?”

Brought back to the present by the velvet smoothness of Steve’s voice, Bucky let his eyes flutter open—when had he closed them—only to see both him and Peggy staring down at him in wonder. Peggy looks curious, but Steve’s just frowning, eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.

_Frowning Steve, bad. Happy Steve, good._

His subconscious is shouting at him, telling him off for displeasing his Alpha, demanding he makes things right.

Raising a sluggish hand up, Bucky reached out to cup Steve’s cheek and thumb at his lips gently. Steve looks surprised by the motion, but his face relaxes into a gentle fondness that has Bucky purring without even realizing it.

“How ya feeling?” Steve asks gingerly.

“Mmm,” Bucky hums, purring more when Peggy’s nails scratch against his scalp a bit.

Seeing both of them like this, so intensely focused on just _him_ , feels more than a little bit overwhelming. There’s nothing he wants more than to curl up and evade their loving, prying eyes, but as the minutes pass by, the less their attention bothers him. Internally, he’s still screaming at himself to run away, to hide, but a pleasant fog is quickly starting to cover his mind and block out the rest.

It clouds his thoughts, ‘til he’s left wondering why he wanted to flee in the first place.

“Buck?”

Oh, that’s right.

“Hot,” he bites out eventually, letting out a shaky exhale at a particularly sharp scratch on his head.

“What do you need, darling?” Peggy asks, and Bucky doesn’t know what it is, but something about her low, cautious voice does it for him, and he just _snaps_.

He reaches his free out to wrap around her wrist, and he’s not gentle when he yanks her down with one sharp tug. She falls over him with an indignant yelp, her hand moving from his scalp to brace herself by his head instead.

“Scents,” Bucky answers, as though he hasn’t already given himself a face full of her neck.

She still has some blockers on—she always does, because even if the men are forced to accept a female Alpha in charge, that doesn’t mean they want to _smell_ it. Still, at this close of proximity, and with how his heat’s enhanced his sense of smell, Bucky can easy feel her natural scent seeping through.

It’s not as sweet as Steve’s natural scent is, but he likes it anyway. It’s crisp, like freshly laundered linen, with a hint of something citrusy and sharp. The perfect accompaniment to Steve’s honeyed decadence, Bucky realizes.

They really are perfect for each other, those two.

“Woah, hey, Buck.”

Suddenly, Steve’s tugging Peggy up back into a sitting position with some inexplainable urgency. Bucky unintentionally whines at the loss, arching his neck up a bit to try and follow her, but he stops when he sees the look on Steve’s face. He looks upset, if not a bit stoic as he tries to restrain himself. Beside him, Peggy looks a little dazed and flushed, but she quickly pulls herself together to mimic Steve’s expression.

Bucky whines again, even as his more rational, non-heat-affected mind screams at him not to.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Steve comforts, gaze softening as he brings a hand to stroke at Bucky’s hair just like Peggy had been doing earlier. “It’s alright, sweetheart, don’t be upset.”

“Stevie,” Bucky whimpers, thrashing a little as the desperate urge to give, to _please_ takes over every bit of his brain. “C’mon, please—”

“Not yet, Buck,” Steve says, firm but not reprimanding. “You’re doing great, honey, but we can’t scent you now, love, or you’ll kick your heat off early. You gotta tell us what you want first, baby, while you can still tell us.”

It’s a logical approach, one they’ve taken for all of Bucky’s heats since he’d first presented. The second he falls out of preheat, once he starts to approach his peak, his ability to reason’s gonna be shot to hell. He needs to focus now, needs to sit back and think and tell them exactly what he’s gonna need and what his limits are, because God knows he won’t be able to vocalize that later.

But Bucky doesn’t want that now. He doesn’t want to talk or stop or _think_ because thinking opens up that painful abyss of doubt and pain and fear deep, deep inside him. He doesn’t want to crack into that Pandora’s box, not when his body’s tingling and aching for his lovers. He wants his favorite guy and gal, he wants his Steve and Peggy, he wants his _Alphas—_

“Bucky.”

It’s a single word, his damn name, but it’s enough to make him go stiff as stone. That’s an Alpha voice if he’s ever heard one: low, strong, domineering. Bucky knows it should make him want to go on his knees and plead for forgiveness—preferably on his knees, with his mouth open for use.

But it doesn’t, because that’s _Steve’s_ Alpha voice. Rumbling and deep, sure, but also so soft and caring and concerned.

It’s enough to snap Bucky out of his brain fog, if only for a few moments.

“Sorry,” he croaks, keening when Steve smiles softly.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says, hand still on his head. “What do you wanna do?”

Bucky forces himself to think on it for a moment, finding it increasingly difficult to navigate his hazy mindscape.

“I’ll wash up,” he decides. “Try to, uh, wake up a bit and all, and then we can, uh… y’know.”

Steve nods.

“Good idea.”

Tiny as it is, the approval makes Bucky’s heart swell, makes some deep, basal thing inside of him purr with pleased satisfaction at being good for Steve.

God, this was gonna be a rough one.

The bath water’s not warm—far from it, really—but it’s also not entirely cold, and for that Bucky’s grateful. Though, all things considered, cold water would probably be more useful now, as the lingering bellows of heat from earlier continue to grow in the pit of his stomach and beneath his skin. Still, he takes the small luxury of tepid water in stride, and it’s with that thought that he begins to wipe himself down.

Bathing does clear his mind, if just a little bit. He’d been bordering on dangerous territory earlier, the haze of heat and need and _Alpha_ pervading his every sense. Even now, his mind is constantly threatening to take the plunge into the gutter, but his fear of what’s to come is enough to sour his growing lust fairly quickly.

But he’s already here, and there’s no turning back no matter how much he wishes so.

Cleaning himself thoroughly inside and out, it’s all Bucky can do to resist the urge to dunk his head in and not come out for as long as his breath will allow him. He doesn’t know how to feel, torn between the urges deep inside his body and the anxiety deep inside his mind. Nausea builds in his chest, and no amount of preening himself seems to fix that.

He finishes his bath all too quickly.

It’s with cruel efficiency that he towels himself dry and gets dressed—nothing but some plain, if not a little rough pajama bottoms. There’s a robe laid out for him, so silky smooth and luxurious that it _has_ to have been Peggy’s choice, but he doesn’t bother with it. Sweet as the gesture is, the sensation of soft satin against his skin too different to be comforting. He’ll take his issued sleepin’ pants any day, much preferring the familiar rub of starchy cotton against his tingling skin.

‘Sides, it’s not like he’ll be dressed for very long.

With his shoulders hitched up high by his ears, Bucky reaches his hand out to curl tightly around the bathroom door knob. He lingers, though, as though those few extra seconds could buy him enough time to sort out the chaos pervading every crevice of his soul.

Sheesh, and he called _Steve_ melodramatic.

He cracks the door open slowly, trying not to wince as its rusty hinges creak loudly into the otherwise quiet night. Lowering his eyes, he readies himself for sharp gazes piercing bleeding holes into his form. He already knows that the tiniest bit of attention would set him on edge right now, thar even the sweetest, most caring of gazes feeling like iron-hot branding on his raging skin.

So he’s admittedly surprised when he realizes no one’s looking at him.

Instead, he openly gawks at what he sees—arms wrapped around each other in beautiful symphony, lips pressed together in youthful harmony. Steve and Peggy are there, curled up in bed in a sweet embrace, sharing soft, chaste kisses as they lounge in wait. There’s no heat or urgency to their actions, but there’s an undoubtable headiness to their air around them—pheromones drenching their forms, eagerness tinging their smiles.

Bucky halts to stare because Christ, they’re just so, so _perfect._

Steve notices him first, because of course he does, and he pulls apart from Peggy with nothing but a tiny smack of his lips. He smiles—they both do, actually—at Bucky tenderly, though there’s undeniable excitement in his step as he climbs off the bed and prances towards him.

On the other hand, Bucky’s completely frozen in place, his feet adhered to the ground by his own shock and arousal and love. There’s little he can do but get swept up in Steve’s arms, his long, muscular arms that are so unfamiliar but familiar at the same time, and keen as their mouths connect.

Bucky likes their kisses for a lot of reasons, the first and foremost how little they’ve changed. It didn’t matter if Steve was a scrawny little twerp or America’s muscle-headed golden boy. He’s always kissed with his whole heart and soul, throwing his everything into even the lightest of kisses. He’s passionate and ruthless to a fault, and Bucky doesn’t have to fake his moans at the rough drag of teeth across his bottom lip.

Parting his lips easily, he lets Steve sink into the kiss and take control, gently domineering in the best possible way. It’s not entirely ravenous, the way he kisses, but there’s an unmistakable hunger in the way he maps out Bucky’s mouth with his tongue. He’s eager, to say the least, and it’s with that knowledge that Bucky allows himself to relax further into the kiss.

He feels Peggy watching too—she’s always had a thing for watching them, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

The thought of having both of them fixated on him now almost has Bucky squirming, but he restrains himself. After all, he doesn’t have time to worry about his inner torment when Steve’s rolling his bottom lip between his teeth and pawing at his lower back like that.

“Buck,” Steve breathes out when they part, but it’s only for a second before Steve’s diving back in for more.

Bucky can’t hold back the soft, gleeful sounds he lets out as firm hands run over the whole expanse of his back roughly, groping and kneading whatever flesh they can find. He returns the action in favor, his own hands roving up and down Steve’s chest and fondling the solid muscle there that he’s only now starting to get used to.

“Hnngh,” he moans between kisses when Steve’s hand slips under his hemline, rucking up his sleepshirt a bit to caress at the skin of his lower back.

“So warm, sweetheart,” Steve pulls back to say. The way his breath fans out across Bucky’s lips is almost enough to distract him from Steve’s words. Almost. “Like coming home to a fireplace on a winter’s night.”

Bucky doesn’t have the patience to feel embarrassed, or even modest at the words, instead leaning in to capture Steve’s mouth again. Nibbling at his bottom lip, Bucky presses his front near-flush with Steve’s, ‘til they’re so close it’s hard to tell where he ends and where Bucky begins.

Steve grunts in delight at the proximity and responds by holding Bucky tighter, one hand still on his back and one cupping the back of his neck to draw him in close and hold him in place. Bucky lets him, because how could he not? Stevie, his sweet Stevie, fitting Bucky’s everything in those two broad palms of him, grasping onto him and never letting go as though Bucky’s his whole goddamn world.

Well, half of his world now.

“You should feel ‘im, Peg,” Steve says. “Like a damn furnace.”

“Stevie,” Bucky whines, muffled by the press of his mouth against Steve’s cheek.

“He’d warm you up with just a touch. It’s damn addicting.”

“You boys certainly know how to tempt a lady,” Peggy coos.

Bucky doesn’t have to look, doesn’t have to even _listen_ to know she’s getting up. He can sense it, the way she’s slipping off the bed slowly, making a show of sauntering over but not coming close just quite yet.

“You love it,” Steve points out, and Bucky can feel his smile.

“I do,” Peggy replies easily, and she’s closer now. Not directly by them, but near enough for her lulling voice to grow louder and her strengthening scent to send jolts down Bucky’s spine.

It’s so different than what he’s used to.

Earlier, back before the war and all the fuckery that came with it, there was never such a slow build to his peak. One second he felt his budding preheat, the next he was thrashing and aching with raw need for hours and hours on end. Nothing could satiate him, except for those occasional times when Steve was healthy enough and could manage to pop a knot or two in him.

Now, though, it feels as though want is bubbling within him slowly and steadily, a bare simmer rather than a roaring boil.

That gentility means nothing for the intensity of his heat, though. He can tell, from the way his body sings for both Steve and Peggy. Every second like this, entrenched in the wafting musk of Steve and Peggy’s pheromones, feels like it lights a spark on ashes. And yet, every spark flickers dangerously closer and closer to oil, ‘til the moment everything explodes.

It’s a far cry from his heat only months prior, his first after being rescued from HYDRA’s crypt of a prison in Azzano.

Perhaps it’s the inclusion of both Steve and Peggy this time, that helps him ignore the warmth making his skin sore instead of the raging fire that he’s so used to. Perhaps they’ve managed to singlehandedly replace the feverish filth that’d fill his mind with their loving embraces and whispered promises. Perhaps their very presences are what brought this haze of tender-hearted lust to his mind, instead of the usual roaring desire so intense he blacks out like a 9 o’clock drunkard and loses all sense of self and free will.

He hopes that’s it, because he doesn’t want to consider the alternative.

“Buck?”

Bucky startles a little in Steve’s arm at the soft call. He keens, nuzzling his face against Steve’s and peppering kisses across his cheek to show he’s still paying attention, still alert, still _there._ Steve’s seen him so much worse than this before, after all. He’s seen him in the murkiest depths of his heat, begging and pleading for any relief, from any Alpha, from any knot, so he knows all too well how to navigate heats without taking advantage of Bucky in the process.

Except, that’s not what’s got Steve stopped dead in his tracks now.

Bucky whines a little, squirming a bit in place and yelping when Steve’s grip only gets tighter. He leans forward, and Bucky belatedly realizes Steve’s burying his face further into the crook of his neck. It’s an innocent gesture for the most part, as he burrows into the sensitive skin and audibly sniffs, but it’s got Bucky’s heartrate spiking in anxiety for some unknown reason.

And then, he realizes why.

“Buck…” Steve says again, far more timid as worry twinges his voice.

Almost immediately, Bucky’s squirming again, now far more earnestly as though he’s actively trying to get away from Steve. And maybe he is, Lord knows, because he has a pretty damn good idea of what Steve’s going to say and _no this can’t be happening right now everything had been going so well—_

“Sweetheart?” Peggy asks, suddenly so much quieter and harder to hear past the pounding of Bucky’s heart in his ears. “What’s the matter—”

“Why can’t I smell you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reup bc ao3's glitching out for me a bit oof
> 
> but anyway the area around me's going batshit crazy over panic about covid-19 but hey if everyone gets quarantined maybe ill use it as an excuse to finally catch up on all my fics lmao


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